


Choose Your Faces

by latesummerfire



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Agnes Nutter's Prophecies, Crowley's Flat (Good Omens), First Kiss, Holy Water, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Bus Ride (Good Omens), Protective Crowley, Worried Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-27 19:20:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20051221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/latesummerfire/pseuds/latesummerfire
Summary: The bus ride home, and the night at Crowley's flat before their 'executions'. The demon and the angel come up with a plan that could save their lives and keep both Heaven and Hell off their backs forever. (Also, Crowley should really clean up first before he invites someone in.)





	Choose Your Faces

**Author's Note:**

> please be kind, this one took me F O R E V E R and I'm rather proud of it, warts and all. special thanks to terryreviews for help with the closing scene

_ “You could stay at my place, if you’d like.”_

Aziraphale’s head was swimming as he got into his seat on the bus, deciding on a whim to sit next to Crowley instead of a seat ahead of him or behind him as usual. They’d already been through so much as it was, and he couldn’t bear to be out of arm’s length from his best friend.

The bus lurched forward as he sat, and he held on tight, momentarily taken aback. The little things seemed to make him jump. He couldn’t deny he was most certainly on edge, and he had every good reason to be.

His hand felt warm, and he looked down to see that, in his surprise, he’d unintentionally grabbed hold of the demon’s hand. Upon this realization, he jolted as if he’d been burnt, and apologized profusely for the contact.

“I’m so sorry, I don’t know what came over me, I-“

Crowley didn’t seem to notice, his faraway gaze remained out the window, his other hand to his mouth as he rubbed his upper lip, lost in thought.

“Are you quite alright, my dear?”

“Mm, fine, just …” he shrugged and Aziraphale caught a glimpse of his eyes as they passed a street lamp. Unless he was mistaken, they were glassed over. He took a moment longer before finally turning to look at the angel, smiling amusedly as he looked him over.

“You’ve never sat next to me on a bus before.”

“_That’s_ what’s bothering you?”

Crowley shrugged again, “S’not _bothering_ me, just an observation, s’all.”

“I can move, if you’d like-“

Aziraphale shifted slightly in an attempt to leave, but Crowley grabbed his arm, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“No, don’t … please.”

Aziraphale relaxed, and the wily serpent slid his hand into his, threading their fingers and clasping him tight. His hand remained clasped in his. He finally looked over at their joined hands, rubbing his thumb across his skin.

“I almost lost you …”

“You’re the one who seemed perturbed about me sitting next to you.”

“Not _that_,” Crowley sighed irritably in a hiss, “well, yes, _that_, but before, the bookshop ….”

Aziraphale squeezed his hand tightly, reaching his other hand to pat him on the arm, “I was only discorporated. I’m here now.”

“Mm, yeah …” Crowley realized, smiling fondly, “You are.”

The bus stopped and a few more people boarded. None of them so much as glanced their way, Crowley made sure of it with a silent miracle, wanting his privacy. Aziraphale didn’t know this, however, and quickly released his hand, glancing furtively at him.

“I’m sorry, it’s just, they could be watching, and-”

“You don’t have to explain, angel,” Crowley brushed off carelessly, ignoring the pain he felt in his chest, folding his arms tightly to his middle as he slouched in his seat, “S’gonna be a while. Wake me when we’re close.”

It wasn’t until Crowley was well asleep that Aziraphale realized he didn’t know how to tell if they were close, for he’d never been to his flat before.

“Bugger.” He said out loud to no one in particular, looking over at the sleeping demon.

His head started to loll to the side, towards the window. That ought to wake him up, surely. His skull colliding with the glass. Would serve him right, falling asleep like that. Such a waste of time, sleeping. And all the while knowing full well the angel never visited his flat before!

Aziraphale took a chance, and touched the demon’s arm ever so lightly, willing a miracle to know exactly which stop they were supposed to get off at so he wouldn’t have to wake his friend.

They hit a bump, and like a protective soccer mom, Aziraphale found himself bracing an arm across the demon’s chest, preventing him from falling forward. In that move, however, he’d lolled to the opposite side, and his cheek was now resting against Aziraphale’s shoulder.

“Crowley, dear,” Aziraphale said under his breath, dark red locks tickling his face as he spoke. He wasn’t sure how the demon might react if he woke to see them like this, and he didn’t want to be accused of allowing it to happen for very long if he didn’t like it.

But the demon didn’t rouse. He only snuggled closer, more comfortably into his side.

Aziraphale couldn’t help but smile to himself, and he glanced around, only to see that all the other passengers had cleared off. He felt foolish for wishing there had been at least one other witness to this tender moment, aside from himself.

He awkwardly slipped out the arm that was beneath him and wrapped it around his back, holding him securely in place as the bus thundered along to Crowley's flat.

—=-=

When the bus stopped in London, Crowley awoke as if by some miracle, even though Aziraphale knew the stop thanks to his own miracle. Still groggy from sleep, he stood, gripping his friend’s shoulder, “Come on, angel,” he mumbled, nudging him up from his seat with his knee.

“You never invited me to your flat before …” Aziraphale mused as they entered the foyer.

“You never asked.”

This was true. He never did ask.

Crowley wandered off into the apartment, and didn’t ask Aziraphale to follow. So the angel decided he was going to have a look around.

That is, if he could see where he was going.

“Do you have a light?” he called after Crowley, feeling in the darkness for a switch.

“Why don’t you pull out your flaming sword—oh wait …” he heard Crowley mumble sarcastically from the other room, followed by a snap of his fingers.

“_Thank you_!” Aziraphale called across the flat to wherever Crowley was at, rolling his eyes as he started to take in his surroundings, “Ever so kind of you.” he added under his breath.

“Shut _up_!” Crowley called back, even further away now, in a slight sing-song way, “And don’t spoil the plants!”

“Spoil the …?” and then Aziraphale saw them. Majestic indoor trees with large green leaves blocking out the ceiling lights, light filtering through them and making the room a light shade of green, the only color he’d seen in the place thus far. He was in awe.

“Oh _my_!” he gasped quietly under his breath, hoping that Crowley wouldn’t hear him. The leaves rustled lightly in appreciation, and he reached out to stroke the underside of a leaf, “Well, aren’t you just darling? Such exquisite foliage!”

If plants could get flustered, Crowley’s plants were at this very moment. Aziraphale took his time, his fingers brushing against their silken leaves as he passed. He appreciated the attention, and wondered if Crowley had ever told the plants about him. Perhaps complaining about him when he’d been stubborn, but according to the reaction of the plants, it was apparent he spoke fondly of him …

It was Aziraphale’s turn to get flustered as he imagined the demon coming home drunk, confessing his love for the angel and asking the plants in vain what he should do about it. But, it was simply a daydream. Crowley didn’t love him like that, demons couldn’t love.

Still, the thought warmed him.

Aziraphale found himself walking down the hallway, and came to a rotating wall that was open just a crack. He pushed it open tentatively, wondering what Crowley had been up to that had him so preoccupied he hadn’t come around to snap at the angel for coddling his greens.

The first thing his eyes landed on was a discarded thermos on the floor. A thermos that looked vaguely familiar.

Upon closer inspection, the angel’s heart dropped.

It was his thermos. The one he’d given to the demon years ago.

He’d used it.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale called weakly, praying in vain that his conclusions weren’t true. He wouldn’t have used it on himself, surely? They still had a chance to survive this, slim as it was. And besides, he wouldn’t take his own life without telling him, would he? He wouldn’t leave without him, would he? All that talk of Alpha Centauri, surely that would’ve been a better option?? A hell of a lot better than … than …

_‘Don’t say it, don’t say it, don’t even think it …’_

He felt as if he was floating in space as he walked around the room, and that’s when he saw it.

A dark black steaming puddle on the floor.

His vision blurred as his hand flew to his mouth and he clutched himself tightly, trying to contain the sobs that threatened to wrack his body. He couldn’t stop shaking as he backed away slowly from the mass.

He couldn’t have … he wouldn’t … 

Eventually, he found his voice, and cried out painfully.

“CROWLEY!!”

His voice echoed throughout the flat, the sound of his own voice shattering him to the core.

“Oh, angel, there you are!”

He whipped around, and saw the demon standing there, looking confused.

Aziraphale could only stare wild-eyed at his best friend, his eyes burning as tears threatened to fall, his hand helplessly held out into the air, trembling.

“What’s wrong?” Crowley asked, his brow furrowing over his dark spectacles as his gaze fell to the liquified demon on the floor, “Oh … _that_.”

Aziraphale stormed up to him, shaking, and raised his hand, wanting so badly to slap him across the face but he couldn’t bring himself to. Especially not when Crowley flinched, anticipating it.

So instead, he slapped him on the arm, but it was more of a pat than anything. Crowley still jumped in surprise.

“How _dare_ you!!” He thundered, "I thought you’d - I thought you’d — _CROWLEY_! How could you?!”

Crowley’s gaze returned to what remained of Ligur, and he looked back into his angel’s eyes, which were bloodshot and brimming with tears. Within that look, he’d realized what Aziraphale must’ve thought, walking in on that.

Not knowing how else to apologize for this, he found himself wrapping him up into a tight hug like a snake might constrict his prey, but he did not intend to hurt him, of course.

The angel sobbed loudly into his chest, hands clawing at his back desperately, trying to hold him closer to his body as if that were physically possible.

“I thought that was you!” he cried muffled into his shirt, “I thought you were dead! I thought … oh, God, Crowley, is this how you … t-the fire, the bookshop … oh dearest!”

Crowley squeezed him tighter, the frame of his glasses stinging painfully against his skull and the side of Aziraphale’s head but both refused to release one another. He found himself gently rocking the angel in his arms, his hand gently caressing his back in small circles, soothing away his distress.

Eventually, when Aziraphale was calmed down well enough, he cleared his throat and respectfully released his friend, his eyes darting around the room nervously until he caught sight of the mess again. With a determined wave of his hand, he miracled it all away, including the thermos.

“I can’t risk you trying to clean it up yourself, there could be traces of holy water still present, you could hurt yourself …”

“You shouldn’t have done that. What if upstairs finds out? You just cleaned up holy water used to commit a murder, angel …”

“I had to, dearest. Don’t argue with me. And besides, they’re probably too busy deciding what to do with us.”

“Choose our faces …” Crowley murmured, recalling Agnes Nutter, and his yellow eyes looked to Aziraphale, "What if the prophecy means quite literally we have to choose our faces? Maybe disguise ourselves? Suppose we could fool them as the nanny and the gardener?”

“Don’t be daft, they’ll see right through it … if only we could guess what they plan to do with us …”

“Eye for an eye, my lot. They’ll have known what i’ve done to Ligur by now. Hastur will see to it.”

Aziraphale squeezed his eyes shut, the pain of thinking that the puddle had been Crowley flooded back into his mind, “Dearest please, I can’t bear the thought …”

“Im only speaking truth, angel. It’s what will happen.”

“And they’ll certainly make me Fall … but I don’t want to Fall, especially without you there to … well, not without you there.”

“You know I’d catch you …” Crowley offered weakly, offering a small wistful smile.

Aziraphale returned it, his skin flushing under his gaze, and he looked away.

“You won’t Fall, angel,” Crowley insisted, sighing deeply, “You can always tell them I tempted you, and you were the victim. Slap on the wrist, that’s all you get.”

“I’m not going to place the blame on you, Crowley. It takes two to tango.”

“_Eughh_ … demons can’t dance. Thing is, they’ll take pity on you, I’m sure of it. You’re too good to have done this without my demonic influence.”

“Hush, dear …” Aziraphale chastised, rolling his eyes, “they might just use hellfire on me.”

“What, like, they’ll actually _kill_ you for this? You’ve done nothing wrong except avert an apocalypse. I _killed_ a fellow demon.”

“They might not _kill_ me, but they use it to … torture.”

Crowley looked sick to his stomach, and he cringed, shaking his head.

“Your lot is just as bad as mine, you know that? Which, in retrospect, makes them worse. They’re supposed to be angels. Heaven sent.”

“God isn’t watching anymore. They do as they please.”

“It’s a wonder they don’t Fall.”

“Don’t be cruel.”

“_Cruel_? They’re the ones that are cruel! Torturing with hellfire- you - you do know, angel, that as cruel as demons can be, we don’t torture each other with holy water. It’s all or nothing. Kill or let live. Your side … I swear, I can’t believe you’re even on that side.”

“I’m not, remember? I don’t have a side. _We_ don’t have a side.”

His hand had reached out as he spoke, the tips of his fingers tentatively brushing his, and Crowley took it up graciously, squeezing it tight.

“Our side.” Crowley corrected.

“Our side.” Aziraphale repeated, smiling wistfully, but it soon faded, “I … I don’t want to lose you, Crowley …”

“You won’t.”

“They’ll come for you. They’ll dunk you in holy water, you’ll … Crowley, you can’t come back from that. It will destroy you. And if it comes to that, I hope they use hellfire on me, because I won’t go back to Heaven, and I can’t see living on this Earth without you … I don’t know how to live any other way …”

“How romantic, angel,” Crowley crooned, swinging his hand between them, rubbing his thumb across his knuckles.

Aziraphale laughed at his own foolishness, “I’m serious.”

Crowley took a chance and raised his free hand to cup the angel’s cheek, pausing before he settled his skin against him, giving his friend a moment to protest or show any sign of discomfort. He was humbled when the touch was welcomed, and furthermore Aziraphale brought his own hand up and held it over his, sighing and closing his eyes.

“I’ll never forget your face …” Crowley mused, tracing his fingers along his jawline, wishing he’d had experienced this close proximity sooner, “Wish it was the last thing I’d see, instead of my— _that_ disgusting lot …”

Aziraphale opened his eyes, smiling through the tears that threatened to fall, “I’ve still so much to say to you, dearest, so much that’s been left unsaid, a-and I feel like …there’s no time left for me to say it.”

“Perhaps there is.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“Choose our faces, or we’ll be playing with fire. I can play with fire, _hellfire_, I’m immune … I can go in your place, survive your punishment!”

“What?” Aziraphale asked incredulously, taking his hand away and releasing him, taking a step away in horror, “Absolutely not! No! I can’t let you!”

“Why not?”

“What if it’s not hellfire, what if you … Fall? You can’t … you can’t Fall for me, can you?”

“I already have.” Crowley reminded softly, and Aziraphale averted his gaze, blushing hotly, and Crowley clarified, clearing his throat, “Fallen, I mean. From _Heaven_. I’m Fallen. What’s the difference if it happens twice?”

“You told me you didn’t Fall, you _sauntered_.” Aziraphale teased lightly, but the prospect of his friend falling twice, to have to go through it all again, “Is it … what’s it like to Fall?”

“I’d rather not get into that right now. And I pray you never have to know.”

“If it really is that bad that you can’t tell me, I can’t let you go through with it. Not again.”

“Angel, what other choice have we got?”

“If you’re going in my place, I’m going in yours. I’m immune to holy water.”

“What? No— angel, that’s _not_ — they’ll smell you a mile off, you’ll be found out in no time. In Hell, surrounded by demons. You’ll be _massacred_. I can’t risk that.”

“And what about you? When Gabriel and Sandalphon came to the bookshop, they smelled your presence, and this was the morning after you’ve been there!”

“Well that settles it then, far too risky.”

Aziraphale sighed in annoyance, “Well, what do you suggest then- and do NOT say Alpha Centauri again, Crowley!”

“Why ever not?” Crowley practically cried, exasperated, his voice cracking mid-sentence as he asked, “Is it so wrong to want to run away with me?”

“It’s not you, dearest.” Aziraphale assured, taking both hands in his again, "It’s the running away bit. We can only run for so long. It won’t solve anything. Living in fear, not knowing when they’ll come for us, is that what you want?”

“Well, what else is there? Marching to our deaths all because we stopped a war that never should’ve happened in the first place? We should be hailed as heroes, not put to our deaths!”

“I don’t want to leave Earth.” Aziraphale established firmly, “I love it here. I love humans, I love the things they create, the places, the books, the food … It’s where we _met_.”

“I know, angel.”

“I mean, what’s the worst that could happen, you and I swapping bodies?”

“One of us or both of us could explode.”

“I’m not _possessing_ you, Crowley, it’s just a guise. I mean … say we swap, and they see we’re immune. What if they try other means?”

“They’ll probably be too dumbfounded and just leave us alone for fear we’d destroy them.”

“But if they don’t?”

Crowley went silent for a moment, contemplating this, “Summon me. I’ll come find you, and get you out.”

Aziraphale nodded at him, “You as well.”

“If this all works out, we can finally retire. Walks in the park, dine where we please … no paperwork.”

“That sounds lovely,” Aziraphale agreed with a smile that soon faded, “I’ll need to find a new place to live, now that the bookshop is … ” He swallowed hard. He still couldn’t bring himself to say it.

“You can live here with me.”

“Don’t be silly.”

“I’m not, I’m being serious.”

“Let’s just focus on tomorrow, we need to be convincing. Perhaps we should switch now, just to practice?”

“Right, give me your hand …”

They watched each other as they transformed, and the best way to describe it was as if you were looking at someone else’s reflection on a lake, and it rippled and suddenly, it was your own reflection. Staring back at you. Or, in this case, you’re not looking at a reflection, you’re looking at a person. It was bizarre, in any case. But their cores were still the same. Aziraphale was still an angel, Crowley still a demon. It was a guise, if nothing more. Like they’d put on some amazing living cosplay.

Once they’d gotten each other’s walks down - Aziraphale complained how Crowley’s saunter was going to snap his spine in half if he sauntered any harder, and Crowley finally relented and said it would have to do - Aziraphale had his turn on Crowley, chastising him for walking overly flouncy “When have you _ever_ seen me walk like that!” “well it’s hard to mimic when I’m not looking at you!” — and then it came down to their mannerisms, which they both did splendidly, how Aziraphale talked with his hands and smiled a lot, and how Crowley usually sneered and made incomprehensible noises as either responses to questions or simply additives - they decided they’d do well enough, as long as Aziraphale didn’t smile as Crowley, and as long as Crowley didn’t glare as Aziraphale. 

Keep it short and simple, they decided. Little to no response was all they needed, and they wouldn’t suspect a thing. It would appear as if they simply made peace with their fates, and before they knew it, they’ll have shocked the pair of them and left the building completely intact and not discorporated or worse, free to spend the rest of their lives together.

“Well, it’s getting late,” Crowley noticed after they’d changed back into their true selves, “Should go to bed.”

“Oh, do you have a couch, or …”

“It’s a huge bed, angel. We’ve been through a lot, and I know we don’t need sleep but it’ll help. No funny business, okay?”

Aziraphale nodded, blushing, “Right.”

“Good, because last thing I need today is to get tempted by an angel.”

“Very funny, dear,” Aziraphale droned.

“I meant it, you know …” Crowley said softly, more serious now, “about staying here. You could stay here with me as long as you like.”

“That’s very kind of you, dear, but you don’t want me in your flat.”

“I do.”

“I’d cramp your style. Tartan collars, cocoa mugs … musty old books …”

“But I love all that about you,” Crowley said quietly, lacing his fingers in his.

Aziraphale smiled softly, feeling that now might be the right time to bring this up, “Crowley, dearest, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you …”

“I know, angel. You don’t have to say it.”

“But this might be the last time …”

Crowley leaned forward and kissed him gently on the lips, and within that kiss, willed their bodies to swap, so that when Aziraphale broke free, he was looking at himself. He could still feel Crowley’s aura through the facade. Within that kiss, he’d answered him. He’d said I love you too, not with words, but with a simple kiss.

Still, it hurt. He wanted to hear it, out loud. He wanted to see the look in his golden eyes when he said it. And now … it was as if he’d disappeared, and he was staring at his own reflection.

“That was cruel,” Aziraphale replied, in Crowley’s voice.

“Probably better off. No telling when they could attack us.”

Aziraphale nodded, swallowing hard as he looked away.

“Hey …” Crowley said, casually snuggling up to him. It was odd for Aziraphale to watch himself snuggle up to himself, as weird as it must be for Crowley to be snuggling up to himself. Still, he welcomed him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders as he leaned into his chest.

“When we get out of this …”

“You mean _if_ we get out of this …” Aziraphale corrected, running his fingers through Crowley’s hair, which was now actually his golden locks.

“_No_, I mean _when_.” Crowley argued snippily, and even in Aziraphale’s voice, he sounded like himself, “_When_ we get out of this … tell me then.”

“But I want to say it now,” Aziraphale practically whined, “Dearest …”

“Don’t cry like that in my voice, it’s embarrassing,” Crowley sighed, his fingers knotting in the front of his shirt, “I would _never_ sound like that.”

“We may not have tomorrow.”

“Hey!” Crowley sat up at this, and looked him straight in the eye. Despite having swapped bodies, and despite looking into his own blue eyes, Aziraphale could see Crowley within that gaze when he spoke.

“Give me something to look forward to. The rest of our lives. An eternity’s worth of retirement. You and me, til the end of time.”

Aziraphale smiled weakly, nodding, “I like the sound of that …” he whispered, and then his eyes lit up, and he raised his hand in his, “I could teach you how to dance!”

“No, _no_, not the gavotte!” Crowley whined.

“_Yes_!” Aziraphale said excitedly, “The gavotte!”

“Please, anything but the gavotte!”

“Well, it’s all I know, dearest.”

“Well, we’ll have to learn some new dance moves together then, won’t we?”

Aziraphale laughed, looking to the ceiling as he thought about the rest of their life together. Possibly moving into his flat, or perhaps they’d get their own place, together … he could start up his book collection again, and Crowley could get some new plants … they’d spend every day dining someplace new, or a regular place, whatever they were in the mood for … endless walks in the park … maybe they could even hold hands. Perhaps somewhere along the way, the moment will be right, and he’ll finally be able to tell Crowley how much he …

“Right! Now, then …” Crowley’s voice interrupted his thoughts, and Aziraphale couldn’t help but roll his eyes. The demon resumed his former position, his head on Aziraphale’s chest (which was his own) “I know you don’t like to do this, but my body does. So do what’s best for my body, and get some sleep.”

“I don’t know how,” Aziraphale protested truthfully, his hand running through his own hair on Crowley in his swapped body. It was the most bizarre thing, and yet, it felt oddly natural.

“Try counting sheep,” he mumbled irritably into his chest, Crowley’s chest, and he pushed his head into him a few times, confusing the hell out of the angel for he thought he was trying to knock him into submission, “For G-Sa-someone’s sake … am I _really_ this uncomfortable? So many sharp edges, I’m gonna give myself a paper cut!”

“Be kinder to yourself, dear. I like your edges. They’re nice.”

Crowley grumbled in response.

“Perhaps we should change back?” Aziraphale suggested hopefully.

“Nah. Can’t risk it. Besides, it’ll make things too weird.”

Aziraphale/Crowley’s brows arched high, and he looked down at their current predicament, as did Crowley/Aziraphale. Their eyes met, and for both of them, it was like staring at their own reflection. And then they both bust out into laughter, and somehow, both of them managed to eventually fall asleep in each other’s arms.

**Author's Note:**

> please leave kudos and comments if you liked it I live for them


End file.
